An Anime Christmas Carol
by Imagaco
Summary: Happy Holidays. Time for a Christmas carol. Anime style.
1. Fukuyama Scrooge

**An Anime Christmas Carol**

_I thought this up a while ago, but I never got around to it until now. Still, I hope you like it. Also, I'm sorry if this seems to be lacking something, but it's been a while since I read or saw any version of 'A Christmas Choral'. I don't own any anime._

Inuyasha Marley was dead to begin with. As dead and rotting as the casket that held him. The business that he had run in life was now owned by the only person who had ever been his friend, living or otherwise, Fukuyama Scrooge. (A/N: don't ask me where I got the idea to play what character in what role; I have no idea myself.)

Fukuyama Scrooge was a tall, old man; although, despite that, he still looked pretty young with only grey hair and winkles to show his age. Our story begins about a year after Inuyasha Marley was dead, on Christmas Eve. Fukuyama was walking down the street at the moment, not too wrapped up. He didn't mind the winter. It was just like him; cold, sharp, and hard. And, at times, as solitary as an oyster. Even the pervertedness he had once had in

Finally reaching his business, Fukuyama knocked the snow off his sign, and walked inside. "Good morning sir," someone said. Fukuyama turned to see his clerk (and most loyal employee), Yukinari Cratchit. "Yes, yes," Fukuyama said, waving him off as he walked over to his desk, "it's ok, I guess. Now get back to work." "I guess you right," Yukinari said, going back to his own desk to work. Just then, the door opened, and a man with hair as bright as the sun, and a mood to match. "Merry Christmas uncle," the man said. "Bah, humbug," Fukuyama said, "what's so merry about it? Don't answer that, Minato."

"Christmas, a humbug," Minato said, "nonsense uncle. Christmas is a time for happiness and cheer." "What do you have to be happy about," Fukuyama said, looking up from his work for the first time, "you're poor enough." "What reason do you have to be irritable," Minato said mockingly, "you're rich enough."

Fukuyama rolled his eyes. "Anyways," Minato continued, "I just came to see if you want to join me at my annual Christmas party tomorrow." "Can't," Fukuyama said, going back to his work, "too much work. Besides, how can someone like you, with little money, think of throwing a decent enough party?"

"Christmas is a blessing," Minato said, "and even though it has never put a dollar in my pocket, I embrace it all the same. I think that is decent enough for a party; and so I say 'Merry Christmas' to all." "Bah humbug," Fukuyama said. "Very well," Minato said, bowing, "I guess I'll leave you to your work. Merry Christmas everyone." "Merry Christmas," Yukinari and the other workers said as Minato left. "Bah humbug," Fukuyama said after Minato closed the door.

Soon after Minato had left, there was a knock at the door. Yukinari opened the door, to which two men came in and walked up to Fukuyama. "Greeting sir," said the fatter of the two, "my name is Shirai and this is my associate Haitani. We are from the church, which go from house to house, trying to get homes for the poor."

"Really," Fukuyama said, looking up. "You see sir," Haitani said, coming out from behind his friend, "we find people can't always afford to stay inside, so we go from house to house, taking up a charity so that they may have a place to stay." At the words 'taking up a charity', Fukuyama frowned and looked back down.

"So," Shirai asked, "Mr. uh… do we have the pleaser of meeting Mister Scrooge, or Mister Marley?" "Mr. Marley," Fukuyama said, pointing his cane at a large picture of a man dressed in red with long black hair, "passed away this very day, three years ago. I keep his name on the sign in his memory, for he was my best, and only, friend."

"Oh," Shirai said, putting a hand up to his mouth, "I'm terribly sorry… So, Mr. Scrooge, how much should I put you down for?" "None," Fukuyama said simply. "You wished to remain anonymous," Haitani asked. "I wish to remain alone," Fukuyama said, before thinking, 'that doesn't really sound correct in grammar.' Despite the error in grammar, the two got the message.

"At any rate," Fukuyama continued, "I don't think there isn't any need to try and help the poor with their homes." "Then what do you suggest we do to keep the poor out of the cold," Shirai asked. "Fukuyama stood up. "The prisons have plenty of room, don't they," he asked. "But sir," Haitani said in shock, "many would rather die than go to jail for warmth." "Well, if they'd rater die, then they'd better do so, and decrease the surplus population."

Haitani and Shirai stared at Fukuyama in absolute shock as he walked to the door. "Now, if there is nothing else," he said, opening the door, "I would ask you leave." The two of them without another word.

Aside from a few people who came to pay their rent, no one else visited Fukuyama for the rest of the day. "Right," he said at closing time, "I'll see you all tomorrow." "But sir," Yukinari said, "tomorrow is Christmas." "No excuses," Fukuyama said, "I want to see all of you here tomorrow morning; is that clear?" "But, but…" Yukinari stuttered before saying, "Yes sir." "Yes sir," all the other employees said as well. "Good," Fukuyama said, turning and going out the door, "good night."

After much walking, Fukuyama finally reached home. To be precise, it had once been his partner's home, but Fukuyama had inherited it in his will. At any rate, Fukuyama walked up to the door, and went to unlock it, but stopped. There was something off. Fukuyama looked at the doorknocker. At that moment, it looked like a face. A very familiar face.

"Inuyasha," he asked. Suddenly, the knocker wailed. A wail so loud and unearthly, the very sound of it would make anyone who heard it feel like they're soul jump out of their body in fright. Fukuyama fell back upon hearing the wail.

Once the waling had stopped, and he was back on his feet, Fukuyama took a second look at the knocker. It looked as it always did, an ordinary silver knocker, no face at all. "Bah humbug," Fukuyama said, and went inside.

But the incident at the door had made him wary, so on his way up to his room, he lit the lamps; which was not an average act for him. As he walked up to his room, he looked around. For some reason, he was expecting something, anything, to happen. But nothing did.

He went into his room, but nothing was there. Fukuyama got into his pajama's, had his dinner, and sat in his favorite chair; the one that faces the fire. Just then, the grandfather clock next to him struck eleven. And a great wind blew in the room, blowing out the fire and all the lights.

Fukuyama would have lit them again, but he stayed where he was. One, because it felt like this was what he was waiting for; and two, because he heard something coming up the stair. He dare not even breathe, for it felt like the thing, whatever it was, was looking for him. The sound, which Fukuyama could now tell was scraping, came closer and closer, until it was just outside the door.

And then, silence. A silence so loud, it felt like it could really make someone go deaf. Suddenly, a giant while weight literally flew though the door, and landed next to the now screaming Fukuyama. Then, two more weights flew though the door, landing next to the first.

Then, walking through the door soon after, came Inuyasha Marley, as white as snow and wrapped in heavy chains. "Who are you," Fukuyama asked, not believing his eyes. "In life," the ghost said with a voice that sounded as if it hadn't been used in three years, "I was your partner, Inuyasha Marley." "You might be his ghost," Fukuyama said, now doubting his ears, "but you more likely might not."

"Why do you doubt your own senses," Inuyasha asked. "Because," Fukuyama said, still not leaving his chair, "even the smallest thing… could affect the senses. You might be nothing more than a dap of mustard, a crumb of cheese, the fillings of an underdone potato."

"Just shut up and listen," Inuyasha said, "I haven't got much time; and these chains are heavy." "Then put them down." "I can't," Inuyasha said, "I wear the chain I forged in life; I made it link by link, and yard by yard. As punishment for all from my acts of cruelty in life. And **your** chain was as long and as heavy, three Christmas's ago. Oh, if you could see it now."

"But," Fukuyama said, "you always made money…" "Do you think that matters now," Inuyasha screamed, "petty things like that don't matter went your dead." "What do you want from me," Fukuyama asked. "To help you," Inuyasha said, "tonight, you will be hunted by three sprits." "Must I," Fukuyama asked, finally getting up. "Yes," Inuyasha said, "for if you don't meet with them, you have no hope."

Suddenly, the window shot open, and a grey mist came in and grabbed Inuyasha. Despite the heavy weights he wore, the mist easily dragged Inuyasha thru the air. "EXPECT THE FIRST GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLL'S ONE," Inuyasha wailed. "Can I not just see all of them at once and get it over with," Fukuyama asked. "EXPECT THE FIRST GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLL'S ONEEEEEEEEeeee," Inuyasha wailed one final time, as the mist finally dragged him out.

Just then, the windows slammed shut, the fire flared up, and all was as it was before Inuyasha visited, except Fukuyama was now standing.

_I hope you liked it, cause the last part was a little rusted. Also, in my last story, I decided I would have a beta-reader. But I've come across a complication (many, I have no clue how to get a beta-reader). If you can help, please tell me what to do… oh, and review; please review._

**Imagaco**


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

**An Anime Christmas Carol**

_Sorry, I forgot that I wanted to see if you have any better ideas for the ghost of Christmas past. Guess I'll have to use my original idea. Still waiting on that Beta-reader. I don't own any anime._

By the time Fukuyama had gotten into his pajamas, gone to bed, and fell right to sleep; he had almost forgotten about Inuyasha and his foretelling of three ghosts. Never the less, when the clock stuck one, Fukuyama woke with a start, and looked around.

At first glance, he saw nothing (though that was more because he had closed the bed curtains before falling asleep than anything else). Then, as if hearing a long forgotten echo of his dead partner, Fukuyama heard the cry of Inuyasha last words to him. 'EXPECT THE FIRST GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLLS ONE!'

Suddenly, the room filled with light, as if the walls themselves were glowing. Soon, the glow died down, until it was a faint light at the foot of his bed. Fukuyama didn't move for a full five minutes. Then, his curiosity outweighing his fear, he went to the foot of his bed, and opened the curtains.

Standing in front of him, was a teenage boy with black hair that was done up in a ponytail, wearing a white robe; a lit candlestick resting on his head. "I am the ghost of Christmas past," the boy said. "Long past," Fukuyama asked. "No," the ghost said, "your past." 'What does long past mean anyways,' the ghost thought.

"We have much to see," the ghost said, deciding to leave it alone, "come." The ghost then pointed at the window, which opened. "But sprit," Fukuyama said, "I, unlike you, am moral; made of flesh and blood. I would fall, and hard to." "Touch my hand," the ghost said, "and you shall be as light as the wind, and as ghostly as me."

Fukuyama grimmest. Then, after putting on his favorite white gloves, he put his hand in the ghost's. As soon as Fukuyama showed he was ready, he and the ghost flew out the window and out into the night. After they were above the roof tops, Fukuyama noticed a light in the distance.

"Sprit," he said, "what is that light? It cannot be morning; it is too early." "It is the past," the ghost said simply. The light grew brighter, and brighter, until it engulfed both Fukuyama and the ghost. The next thing Fukuyama knew, he and the ghost were flying over a forest on a sunny day.

Soon, they came across a large school on a cliff, at the edge of the forest. After landing on the school's grounds, Fukuyama took a good look around. Then, he did something that he rarely ever did nowadays; he smiled.

"This is my old school," he said. "There's Sasuke, and Neji," he said, pointing to each of the kids in turn, "and my old roommate, Negi Springfield. Hello boys! Hello?" "They can't hear you," the ghost said, "these are the shadows of things that have been. They can nether see nor hear us. Think of it as stepping into a very clear memory."

Fukuyama turned to the ghost, only to find himself looking at a redheaded woman in her 20's. "Who are you," he asked. "I am still the ghost of Christmas Past; I just have a tendency to change age and gender from time to time. Sometimes it happens without me even realizing it." "Oh," Fukuyama said, hardly surprised after what had happened so far tonight, "okay."

As they walked inside, Fukuyama couldn't help but to point at everything and everyone, saying who or what there were, and the memories they brought back. Soon they entered what looked like a large living room with a big fire place.

"I remember this room well," Fukuyama said, "I spent a good deal of my spare time in here." "And does he also look familiar," the ghost asked, pointing at a boy in the corner. Fukuyama looked over, and saw a young, blond haired, boy, no older than six.

"I do," Fukuyama said, looking at the young boy, "it's me." Indeed it was; a younger Fukuyama was sitting in the corner, reading a book. "You don't look happy," the ghost said. "I'm not," Fukuyama told the ghost, "it's Christmas, and I'm stuck here."

"Why don't you go home," the ghost asked. "Who would I go to," Fukuyama asked, turning away from his younger self, "no one wants me. My father left at this school the first chance he got, and never lost any sleep over it."

As Fukuyama watched, each of the Christmas's he had spent past like minute in time. Finally, they reached a Christmas were the young Fukuyama was joined by someone.

He had been sitting, watching the fire, when suddenly, a young girl with long blond hair came running in. "Lisa," the young Fukuyama said in surprise, "what are you doing here?" "Brother," Lisa said, running right up to him, "I've finally convinced father to let you come home for Christmas."

Fukuyama smiled as he watched Lisa drag the young Fukuyama outside. "That was a great Christmas," he said as the doors closed. "Why," the ghost asked, "did you and your father finally make up for lost time?" "No," Fukuyama said, "in fact, spending it with mom and dad was horrible. But, Lisa was always the one family member that I cared about above all other; and vice versa."

Fukuyama then frowned; but in sadness, not annoyance. "But," he continued, "that was also one of the last two times I ever saw Lisa after dad had sent me to that school." As Fukuyama watched on, the scene changed. It was now the next Christmas (he could tell because his younger self was older looking), and the young Fukuyama was standing by the fireplace.

Just then, a man with a goatee and a cigarette in his mouth came into the room. "My old headmaster," Fukuyama said, "Mr. Takahata." "Congratulations Fukuyama," Mr. Takahata said, coming up to the teenage Fukuyama, "today, you leave this school on knowledge, and enter the world of business." "Yes headmaster," the teenage Fukuyama said, acting like he didn't care one way or another.

"Oh, don't be so down boy," Takahata said, "you will make a great business man; I know it. Soon, your prowess will stand as strong as this building itself." Takahata whacked on the wall behind him for emphasis, and the shelf above him snapped in half. Takahata jump out of the way in time, all of the objects on it nearly hitting him on the head. "…I've been meaning to fix that for while now," Takahata said, nervously. Both the young Fukuyama and the old Fukuyama tried not to smile, although the older one was having more trouble.

"Anyways, I know that one day, you will have a business of your very own," Takahata said, "I can feel it in my guts, as strongly as when I eat one of you special burrito burgers." "Yes headmaster," the teenage Fukuyama said, trying even harder not to laugh.

"Ah," Takahata said as a new man came in, "hear is your instructor now." "Come Scrooge," the ghost said, grabbing his hand, "we still have much to see." And with that, she and Fukuyama flew out the window.

As soon as they had left, they found themselves in the street of the city, standing next to a large building. "Why, it's the first place I worked," Fukuyama said with glee, "Mr. Rakan's weapon emporium." "Why did he sell weapons," the ghost asked. "For novelty purposes only," Fukuyama said, turning to the ghost. The ghost was now male, and almost as old as Fukuyama himself.

Just then, a large, muscular, dark skinned man with white hair walked out and looked around. "As I live and breathe," Fukuyama said, "Mr. Rakan himself." "Ah," Rakan said, "night is falling, and the lamps are being lit. Time to start the party." "Mr. Rakan's annual Christmas party," Fukuyama said, fallowing Rakan back inside, "I remember it well."

And indeed he did. The music, the food, the dancing; it all happened as he remembered. "Look," Fukuyama said, pointing up the stairs to a man with long black hair, "there's my old friend, Inuyasha Marley. And there I am," he pointed to a corner of the room, "fussing over the cost of the party, as usual. Soon, I'll approach Mr. Rakan about it, and then he'll tell me to stop worrying and join the party."

Just then, the young adult Fukuyama got up and walked over to Rakan. "See," Fukuyama said, pointing to his younger self, "there I go." "Sir," the younger Fukuyama said to Mr. Rakan, "did you see the books for this year, I'm not sure we can afford… this… party."

The young Fukuyama had just seen who Rakan was talking to; a beautiful, brown haired girl, with a well developed chest. "Oh," Rakan said, seeing who Fukuyama was looking at, "Fukuyama, I'd like you to meet Kirie. She the niece of a friend of mine; and she'll be working here next year. I just wanted to show her around since we all have free time today."

"Hi," Fukuyama said, a bit higher than he meant. Kirie giggled, and looked at him like he was an old friend, who had become more than a friend. "Well," Rakan said," seeing the looks on their faces, "I'll just leave you two alone then." If they heard him, they did a great job of not showing it.

"Do you remember this to," the ghost asked. "I do," Fukuyama said, "it was the day I met her. I remember it well indeed. I had always been sure of everything I did; but when I laded eyes on her, I wasn't even sure of myself."

"I bet the large chest helped as well," the ghost said. "It helped," Fukuyama admitted, "but only a little bit." "Would… would you like to… to dance," the young Fukuyama asked, hold a hand out. Kirie smiled, took his hand, and said, "Alright, but I warn you, I'd not that good of a dancer." "She really wasn't," the older Fukuyama said, as he watched them go out onto the dance floor, "I remember I had sore feet for the rest of the night."

"Come," the ghost said, grabbing Fukuyama's hand, "we have more to see." With that, they flew out of the building. As before with the school, no sooner had the left the place, then had they found themselves is another time.

They were in a room; much like the one Fukuyama worked in, except it had a second desk, which Inuyasha sat at. "I remember this," Fukuyama said, "this was the first Christmas where I had my own business. Well, where Inuyasha and I _shared_ a business." "good for you," the ghost, now a six year old girl, floating above the ground so that she could still looked Fukuyama in the eye.

Just then, Lisa, now a young lady, burst into the room. She didn't look like she'd changed much, except she now had a belly the size of a tire. "Brother," Lisa said, running over to the younger Fukuyama, "I finally found you. I have great news. I'm pregnant!" "…I can see that," Fukuyama said after a while.

"Oh," Fukuyama said, smiling, "this is also the year that I saw leas for the second time since father sent me off to that school." Fukuyama watched as Lisa explained all her plans for the baby, and the names had decided on. Soon, she let Fukuyama get back to his work, telling him she'd be back, next time with pictures.

"If I remember correctly," the ghost said, "this was also the last Christmas she ever had." "Yea," Fukuyama said, looking down, "it was." The ghost put a reassuring hand on him shoulder. When he next looked up, Fukuyama saw that their surroundings had changed without him realizing it.

They were now in a snowy field, a small river with a bridge nearby. And on that bridge, was a Fukuyama that was in the prime of his adulthood, and he appeared to be arguing with Kirie. "No," Fukuyama said, looking at the ghost, "not this." The ghost, who now looked like a one year old boy, looked at Fukuyama sadly, then he moved the both of them closer.

"But why did you move back the date again," Kirie asked. "I told you, love," Fukuyama said, "I cannot yet have use marry. Business continues to be poor. Plus you're being out done by the actress." "That was three weeks ago," Kirie said, "I told you last week that I was back on top." "You did," Fukuyama said in surprise.

Kirie looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I don't even know why I still stay with you anymore," Kirie said quietly. "We stay because we love each other," Fukuyama told her. "You once loved me," Kirie said, "but my love is like the heat of a flame, and yours is like the candlestick; while mine grew, yours only melted away."

"That's not true," Fukuyama said, although the way he said it sounded true. "Prove it," Kirie said, standing up, "I'm leaving. Leaving you, leaving our marriage, everything. But if you ever once come for me, I will know that you love me." And she walked off.

"Sprit," Fukuyama said, as he watched Kirie walk away from his younger self, "why do you show me such things?" "I am sorry," the ghost said, "but I still have more to show you." "No more," Fukuyama said, putting his face in his hands.

When the ghost put its hand his shoulder again, Fukuyama looked up and saw they were now someplace else. "Where are we," Fukuyama said, "I do not know this place." "No," the ghost (who was now a teenage girl) said, pointing to an old woman, "but you know her."

Fukuyama looked around to where the ghost was pointing. There, sitting in front of the fireplace, three young children running around her chair, was an elderly Kirie. In the kitchen next to the room, were a blond adult and a brown haired woman.

Just then, a bald old man walked in a walked up to Kirie. "My love," he said to her in a quiet voice (Fukuyama felt his heart stop for a second), "I just past an old… associate of yours." "Fukuyama," Kirie asked. "Yes," the old man said, "it seems he has lost a dear friend today. His only friend."

Kirie looked sadly at the blond man in the kitchen. "Do you think I should tell him," Kirie asked. "No," the man said in a hushed voice, "Fukuyama already has a nephew; I don't think he needs any more relatives." Fukuyama let that sick in. then he slummed to the floor.

The man in the kitchen was his son. He had a son. "Scrooge," the ghost said, apprehensively. "Leave me be," Fukuyama said. "But Scrooge," the ghost said, putting a hand on Fukuyama's shoulder. "No more," Fukuyama said, pushing the hand away. "But Mr. Fukuyama," the ghost said; now putting a hand on both shoulders.

In a flash, Fukuyama took off his one of his gloves and tried to put out the candle on the ghost's head. "HAUNT ME NO LONGER," he shouted as he did so. The scream that came from the ghost was horrible. It was like every age and gender the ghost could take was screaming at the same time.

The candle's flame must have been the ghost's life force, because it soon started to glow and sift, like it was having trouble staying together. Soon, the glow and the sifting was so intense, Fukuyama was having a hard time keeping himself where he was.

Then, with a final cry, the shouted, "EXPECT THE NEXT GHOST WHEN THE BELL TOLLS TWO!" then, like a flame being blown out, the ghost poofed out of existents. Fukuyama was back in his room. It was 1:05 in the morning. Fukuyama did not see this. In fact, it was a few minutes before he got up from where he was kneeling, and got back into bed. It was a while after that before he finally laid down and went to sleep.

_Well, please review. Also, if you want, I can tell who each of the ghosts are, and what manga/anime they're from. For the record, the ghost of Christmas past is Ranma from Ranma ½. Thank you for reading this, and again, please review._

**Imagaco**


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present

**An Anime Christmas Carol**

_I'd really like it if some people would review. Just a thought. I don't own any anime._

When the clock struck two, Fukuyama shot up, as if the sound was an explosion. He looked around the room, not daring get out of bed yet. He had seen the first ghost, and he did not know if the second ghost would be like him, better, or worse.

Just then, a light from a door that had not been there before lit up, and a voice as merry as the season laughed. "Come in, come in," the voice said, "and now me better, man." Fukuyama stared at the door for a few seconds before deciding to get up and meet the ghost.

He was bigger than expected, and I don't mean fat; I mean he was a giant. Despite the room being tall to fit a small house in, easily, the ghost's head just barely touched the roof, and that was with the ghost sitting down.

The ghost himself was interesting sight; he a long red robe, brown sandals, a yellow sash, and a straw-hat with a holy writhe around it. He also wore three katana scabbards, but there were no katana's in them. The ghost had messy black hair, a wide smile, and a scar under his left eye.

"I am the ghost of Christmas present," the ghost said, "Come in, come in, and know me better, man." "You already said that," Fukuyama said, still nervous. "I did," the ghost said in surprise, "uh… did I say I was the ghost of Christmas present?" "You did," Fukuyama said, still a little nervous. "Oh," the ghost said before smiling, "Come in, come in, and know me better, man."

"Forgive me for saying so," Fukuyama said, his mood lightening, "but seem to be a little absent minded, sprit." "No," the ghost said, "I am a huge absent minded sprit." With that, both Fukuyama and the ghost laughed, the ghost shrinking too Fukuyama's height as he did so.

"Forgive me," the ghost said, "but as the Ghost of Christmas present, I tend to _live_ in the present." Fukuyama smiled; then he frowned. For a second, it looked like another hand had come out of his robe; but it disappeared as soon as he saw it.

"I have never seen anything like you, sprit," Fukuyama said. "Really," the ghost said, "over 19 hundred of my brothers have come before me." "19 hundred," Fukuyama said in surprise, then smiled, "your family insurance must coast a fortune." Both Fukuyama and the ghost laughed for a few moments.

"Come, come," the ghost said, gabbing Fukuyama's still gloved hand, "we have much to see, and I have much to show you." And then they walked out of the door Fukuyama come in through. To his surprise, Fukuyama found that they were not back in his room, but out on the streets, on a bright and sunny day.

"Merry Christmas," people said to one another, as they past each other on the street. "Welcome," the ghost said, "to Christmas day!" Fukuyama looked around at the street. "Come," the ghost said as he did, "I have much to show you."

He took Fukuyama's hand, and lead him down the street. Soon, the world around them began to change, until they were standing in a room with seven people in it. One of them Fukuyama recognized as his nephew, Minato.

"Glad everyone could make it," Minato said, "now, what should we do first?" "How about we play 'Yes and No'," said a woman with red hair. "Great idea, Kushina," Minato said. Fukuyama stared at the girl. "That's Kushina," said in amazement.

Sometime ago, Minato had told Fukuyama that he was going out with a woman that he loved very much; but Fukuyama had never bothered to learn anything more than her name (and that was out of respect). He never bothered to find out what she looked like, how she acted, or even if his nephew had married her yet. But now that he saw her, he thought that she looked as beautiful as Kirie had been.

"Let's let Minato go first," a man with red fang marks on his cheeks said. "I do have a good one," Minato said, smiling. As it turned out, the thing Minato was thinking about was a not plant or mineral. Nor was it an animal found in the woods.

"Is it a dog," the man with fang marks asked, to which Minato replied, "No." "A cat," Fukuyama said. "A cat," Kushina asked. "I said it first," Fukuyama told her, then he remembered he couldn't be seen. "No," Minato said. "Wait," Kushina said, "is it an unwanted animal?" "Yes," Minato told them.

After that, they all guessed a cockroach, a rat, or a fly. None of them were right. "Wait," Kushina said, "an unwanted animal that lives in the city, but not a cockroach, a rat or a fly. I know what is." "What," everyone asked. "It's your uncle," Kushina said to Minato, "Fukuyama Scrooge." "Yes," Minato said, and everyone laughed. Fukuyama didn't feel like laughing at the moment.

"Come," the ghost said, putting a hand on Fukuyama's shoulder, "we have much more to see." Fukuyama nearly jumped; he had forgotten that the ghost was there. After getting over the shock, Fukuyama fallowed the ghost, through a wall.

Soon, they found themselves on a street, filled with old houses. "This," the ghost said, pointing to the closest house, "is Yukinari Cratchit's house." Fukuyama stared at the old house in surprise. "This is Yukinari's house," he asked. "How did you know that," the ghost asked. "You just told me," Fukuyama said, a little annoyed. "Oh," the ghost said, "right. Well, look inside."

Fukuyama did so. Inside, he saw a beautiful woman with long, pink hair, and three red dots on her forehead, making something in the kitchen, with twin girls helping her. At the fireplace, a boy with pink and blue hair slow-turned a turkey over the fire. "Mother," one of the girls asked, "when do you think father will be back?" "He should be home soon," the woman said.

Indeed, Fukuyama began to hear the sound of Yukinari's voice singing a song. He turned to see Yukinari walking down the street, a small boy on his shoulder; the both of them singing a Christmas song together. As they entered the house, Fukuyama noticed that the boy looked exactly like Yukinari, only younger, and holding a cane in his hand.

"We're home," Yukinari said, to which all the kids ran to him and shouted, "DADDY!" "Toru," the mother said to her elder son, "keep smoldering the turkey." "Oh, right," the boy said, going back to the fire. After the mother had ushered away her kid, she turned to Yukinari. "How was Timmy at the church," she asked. "As good as gold," Yukinari said, looking at his young son get into his chair, "maybe better."

Yukinari smile looked a little forced, Fukuyama noticed, as he continued to look at the young boy. "He said, that he wanted to sit in the front," Yukinari continued, "because he hoped that a lot of people would be able to see him, and know how fortunate they are."

His wife sniffed. "That's… that's good," she said, trying not to cry. Then, as if to keep her mind on other things, she turned to the kids, and said, "Alright, let's set the table." "Okay mom," the kids said. Timmy ran over to help, but as soon as he started on the table, he began to chough.

"No Tim," the mother said, "let me do that; you sit down." "Such a poor family," Fukuyama said as he continued to watch them through the window. "And yet," the ghost said, "they have one another; and that seems to be enough."

Fukuyama looked down in sadness… that is, until he heard his name. "To Fukuyama," Yukinari said, "the founder of the feast." Fukuyama smiled at this, and, literally, walked through the door. (It didn't surprise him that he could do this; he'd seen enough tonight to not be surprised by much.)

"The founder of the feast, indeed," Yukinari's wife said in discussed (which sounded unnatural for her), "he has given you hardly enough money for you to buy a proper dinner. Why, if he were here right now, I do not think I would be able to contain myself."

"Miharu," Yukinari said to his wife, "the children, Christmas day…" "Oh," Miharu said, embarrassed, "oh, right. Very well, to Mr. Fukuyama Scrooge; may he live long and find happiness." "God bless Mr. Scrooge," Timmy said, getting excited, "god bless us, everyone."

And then, Timmy began to chough again. "Oh, oh dear," Miharu said, ushering Timmy to the fire, "here Timmy, sit next to the fire." Fukuyama looked at the tiny Tim, with sadness in his eyes. He then remembered Yukinari once asking for a raise so that he could give his son an operation; but he had said no.

"Sprit," Fukuyama asked, "is Timmy going to die?" Fukuyama turned to look at the ghost, and was temporarily shocked at what he saw. The ghost looked like it had aged 30-40 years in the time Fukuyama last saw him. He now bore streaks of white in his hair, and a graying goatee.

"That," the ghost said, walking over, "is the future; my realm is the present. However, I do see a vacant seat near the fire, and a cane without an owner. If these shadows remain unaltered, I fear the boy _will_ die." Fukuyama looked at Timmy sadly.

"But then," the ghost continued, "if he's going to die, let him do it, and decrease the surplus population." "Sprit," Fukuyama said, looking at the ghost in shock. "Your words," the ghost said, "not mine."

Fukuyama looked down sadly, for he knew that the ghost was right. Then, he looked up and stared at Timmy. Even as the lights began to fade, Fukuyama keep his eyes on him, until the last. "Come," the ghost said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "my time grows short."

Once they were back in the light, Fukuyama looked once more at the ghost. His eyes widen at what he saw. The ghost now looked like, while they were walking, he had aged until it was 90. "Sprit," Fukuyama said, as the ghost sat down, "do you grow old?" "I do," the ghost said, "like my brother before me, I live only in the Christmas present."

"Sprit," Fukuyama said, "I don't mean to be rude, but earlier, I saw a hand that did not belong to you. To whom _does_ it belong." At this, the ghost stood up and opened his robe, as quick as a flash. Under his robe, two (for lack of a better word) creatures held onto his waste. The one on the ghost's right green hair and held the three missing katana's; the one on the ghost's left looked like a girl with orange hair.

"These," the ghost said to the night, in an unearthly voice, "are the children of man that lay beneath every Christmas day. The girl is Want; the boy is Ignorance. Beware them both, and all of their degree; but beware the latter most, for on his head I see that which is doom, unless the word is erased." Fukuyama tried to look at what was on the man's head, but he turned away before Fukuyama could see. It was then that Fukuyama noticed that they were sitting just outside a graveyard.

The ghost closed his robe, and sat back down. "I believe," the ghost said, talking more to himself then to Fukuyama, "I shale go when the bell tolls twelve." Just then, the bell at the nearby church began to ring. "Now," Fukuyama said, "but sprit, I have learned so much from you, I wish to know so much more." "And now," the ghost said, "I leave you in the hands of the ghost of Christmas yet to come." "Please sprit," Fukuyama said, "don't leave." The ghost began to twinkle out of existence. "Go fourth," the ghost said as he disappeared, "and know him better man. GOOOOOOoooooooo…" and with that, Fukuyama was left in the graveyard, all alone.

_The ghost of Christmas present: Monkey D. Luffy from 'One Piece'. Please review; it's killing me that no one reviews._

**Imagaco**


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

**An Anime Christmas Carol**

_I don't own any anime._

Fukuyama stood in the spot for a few seconds before turning around and gasping. Coming right for him, was a cloud of mist, as black as smoke at night. Fukuyama tried to run, but it was as if he was in slow motion, and the mist was moving at high speed.

Soon, it engulfed him, and he could not tell which way was where. When the fog finally lifted, Fukuyama was still in the graveyard. But this time, he heard something behind him, breathing. He turned around; and standing behind him, was the third ghost.

It stood higher than Fukuyama, with a long black cloak; and the only thing Fukuyama could see of it was the ghost's hands and his mouth, which had marks on his cheeks that looked like whiskers next to it. "Are you the ghost of Christmas yet to come, of whom I was told would come," Fukuyama asked the cloaked man (he thought it was a man), just to be safe. The thing nodded.

"Forgive me, spirit," Fukuyama said, shivering, "but I fear you more than any other spirit I have met." The ghost just stood there. "Will you not speak," Fukuyama asked. The ghost turned and pointed to nothing. "Oh, yes," Fukuyama said, getting the message, "time is short. Let us see what there is to be seen." And with that, Fukuyama and the ghost walked into a vale of swirling black mist.

When they exited, they were in a street that seemed to be made of the mist, only it was more, but not completely, solid. In fact, it seemed more like shadow than anything else. But Fukuyama immediately recognized it as his street.

Just then, the ghost pointed to a group of people standing nearby. Getting the idea, Fukuyama walked close enough to hear them. He soon recognized one of them as his old classmate, Neji. He was amazed that Neji was on the same street he lived on (then again, he never bothered to find out who his neighbors were, so it wasn't that surprising). But just then, he heard what Neji was saying to the other three men.

"Died this morning, in fact," Neji said, "no idea how it happened. Maybe life just got tired of letting him live." "Almost makes one feel sorry for him…" another man said, "almost." "Wonder who he left all his money too," asked a third man. "Who cares," said the fourth, "all I want to know is, will anyone be dumb enough to go to his funeral."

"I wouldn't mind going," the second man said, causing the other to look at him in surprise, "…if a free lunch was served!" At this, all the men laughed pretty hard. "Speaking of lunch," the third man said, "I know a great place nearby; would you mind accompanying me." "Not at all, my good sir," the fourth man said, "not at all." With that, the four men walked off.

Fukuyama turned back to the ghost. Upon closer inspection, Fukuyama saw that the ghost now had claws for fingernails, and the marks on his cheeks were more defined. "Spirit," he said, "I know those men. But too whom were they referring to? Who was the poor man they were speaking of?" The ghost did not speak. Instead, it pointed to a black swirling portal that appeared next to it. Understanding again, Fukuyama walked through it.

The next thing he knew, Fukuyama was in a filthy old ally, where three poor looking people were facing a dirty teenage looking man with black hair and ears like a dogs, who was standing behind an old, self-made, counter. "Welcome, my pretties," the man said, "to Uncle Kotaro's pawn 'shop'. Back from the old house are we? Well, what do you have for me this time, my pretties?"

"I got his silverware," said a tiny, bald old man, holding up a small cupboard box, "and look, it's real silver." "Oh, hey now," Kotaro said, looking closely at a spoon, "this could fetch a pretty penny. And you, good man?" "I got his bed-curtains," said a man with long blue hair, and a red, round nose, "they seem to be made of a smooth silk." "Oh, nice," Kotaro said, taking the certain, "and you, my sweet." "I got one better," said a woman with a white rose in her short blue hair, and a black robe with red stains on it, "I've got his very bed sheets."

"His bed sheets," Kotaro said, taking the blankets out of her hands and feeling them, "…my dear, they're still warm. I don't pay extra for warmth, you know." "I don't see why not," the woman said, "it was the only warmth he ever had."

At this, all of them laughed pretty hard. But Fukuyama didn't laugh, because the things that had been given to Kotaro had once belonged to him instead. He walked backwards a bit only to find himself back where he had been before; next to the ghost, in his street. "I see, spirit," Fukuyama said, "if I continue as I have been, the fate of this unknown man will be like my own. But please spirit; is there not some form of happiness in this future?"

To answer, the ghost pointed with his now red skinned hand. The mist where he pointed seemed to sift, until it settled into the form of Yukitari's house. "Oh yes, spirit," Fukuyama said, smiling as he walked forward, "Yukinari's home. A place of joy, no matter how poor they may be."

But when Fukuyama looked into the window, he saw only faces of misery. Miharu was at the stove, crying as she cut up vegetable for a stew, only half paying attention to what she was doing. The twin girls were setting the table, but were only doing so half heartedly. Toru was turning the turkey, but only, it seemed, out of habit.

"Not tiny Tim," Fukuyama said both fear and sadness in his voice. Then, without thinking, he walked through the door, and to the house. "I think," Miharu said, speaking for the first time, "your father should be about home soon." "I think he's walked slower these past few weeks," Toru said, not looking up.

Just then, Yukinari walked thought the door. "Welcome home father," the kids said, but they said it without the enthusiasm they once showed. "I'm sorry I'm late," Yukinari said, walking over to his wife, "I was… well, I went to…" "It's okay," Miharu said, putting an arm around him, "we know; you don't have to say it."

"I found a great spot," Yukinari continued, trying to perk up, "on the hill, overlooking the pond, where you can see the ducks in the evening. Timmy…" "Timmy always did love watching the ducks in the evening," Miharu finished, sadly.

Then, after each finishing their chores, the family sat at the table; and still, no one smiled. "Well then," Yukinari said, half heartedly, "here is to Christmas day, and… and, to Timmy." "To Timmy," everyone said quietly, as Yukinari looked over at the fire. Right next to it, just as the ghost of Christmas present had said, was a vacant seat, and a cane without an owner.

Fukuyama put his face in his hands. "Oh, spirit," he said, crying slightly, "why tiny Tim? Why?" when Fukuyama looked up again, he saw that he and the ghost were standing in the middle of the graveyard that they had been in earlier.

"Spirit," Fukuyama said, looking at the ghost, "why have we returned here?" the ghost looked at Fukuyama (at least he turned in his direction; the ghost's face was now completely covered by the shadow of his hood), then pointed towards a nearby grave.

Fukuyama saw that this grave was still being dug up. He moved closer to hear what they were saying. "Never seen a more empty funeral," said one of the diggers, a girl with red hair and bells for ponytail ties, "not even the choir bothered to show up." "We wouldn't have shown up either, if it wasn't for the fact that we needed the extra cash," said the other grave digger, a boy with unnaturally pointy ears.

"I guess the priest was at least a little happy about that," the girl said, before putting her shovel down on the grave, "say, Nijima, do you want to take a break?" "Don't see why not, Asuna," the boy named Nijima said, putting his own shovel down and kicking the bag next to the hole, "he's not going anywhere."

As the two grave diggers walked off, Fukuyama and the ghost walked closer to the grave. When he looked in, Fukuyama didn't see a bottom, but he guessed that was because it was so dark. "This must be the man that Neji and the other three gentlemen talked about today," he said, looking at the bag. The ghost just nodded.

"Spirit," Fukuyama said, turning to the ghost, "at least tell me one thing; are these the shadows of things that will be, or the shadows of things that might be." The ghost said nothing; just stood there, perfectly still, almost as if he was a gravestone himself. "A man's fate can be changed," Fukuyama continued, "a destiny can be rewritten."

The ghost nodded, but whether it was agreeing with him or was saying it understood him, Fukuyama did not know. "But spirit," Fukuyama continued, "I must know; who is this man that they spoke of today? Whose grave is this?"

The ghost took its hands out of its robe. Fukuyama almost gasped. The hands of the ghost now looked like they belonged to a beast, as they were covered in orange fur, with claws sharp enough to go through glass.

The ghost put its hand on the gravestone, and, for the first time since he came here, the moon came out, giving enough light to show the name on the headstone. 'Fukuyama Scrooge'. Now Fukuyama did gasp. Then, he heard an inhuman laughter growing behind him.

He turned around in time to see the ghost take off its hood. Whatever the ghost had been when Fukuyama had first met him, it wasn't anymore. The ghost now looked like a tall, demonic fox, with nine long tails coming out from underneath its cloak.

"Why, it's yours, Fukuyama," the ghost said, in a voice as deep as the center of the earth, and as inhuman as the ghost itself, "the richest grave in the cemetery. Now, take all the time you want to JOIN US!"

On the last two words, the ghost shoved Fukuyama into the grave, the bottom of which opened up to reveal a gigantic cave, with pools of lava, and columns of fire. "NO," Fukuyama shouted, grabbing onto a root, "I'LL CHANGE! I SWEAR I'LL CHANGE!"

But it was no use. Every root that Fukuyama grabbed came free and wrapped around him. Eventually, he was overwhelmed, and began to fall, down, down, down; right into the hole. "I'LL CHANGE! PLEASE, I'LL CHANGE! I SWEAR IT!" as Fukuyama fell down, down, down…

_The ghost of Christmas future: Naruto Uzumaki/Nine-Tailed fox from 'Naruto'. I try and post the final chapter on Christmas day. Please review._

**Imagaco**


	5. Christmas Day

**An Anime Christmas Carol**

_This is the final chapter, so please enjoy. I don't own anything._

THUD! Fukuyama hit the floor like a brick. After getting out of the sheets that had wrapped around him, he sat up and looked around. "Hey," he said, "I'm home." Yes, the room was his own, the bed was his own, even the sheets were his own.

"They're not torn down," Fukuyama said in amazement, running the bed-curtains through his hands. Then, a thought occurred to him. Fukuyama ran to the window and threw his head out. He saw a child with brown hair and a scarf long enough to look like a cape passing underneath his window, "Hey," he shouted to him, "young man. What day is it?" "Today," the child said, looking up, "why, it's Christmas day, sir."

"Christmas day," Fukuyama said to himself, "I haven't missed it. The spirits did all in one night… of course they can; of course they can." Fukuyama looked down again to make sure the kid was still there. He was (and from the look on his face, he had heard everything Fukuyama had said).

"Tell me," Fukuyama said, "what is your name?" "Konohamaru," the boy said. "Well, Konohamaru," Fukuyama continued, "do you know if that prize turkey at Jamey's meat shop is still for sale?" "The one in the window that's almost as big as me," Konohamaru asked, "still for sale, far as I know." "Do me a favor, and buy it for me," Fukuyama said, throwing down a bag of money, "buy it for me, and I'll give you 1,000 yen. Get it to me in five minutes, and I'll give you 5,000 yen."

Konohamaru didn't stick around long enough to find out whether or not Fukuyama was telling the truth. "I'll bring it to Yikinari's house," Fukuyama said, bringing his head back in, "he'll be so excited. But first, I have to take care of something."

Fukuyama then put on his best suit, hat, and grabbed his best walking cane. Then, he tried to walk through the door. Quite embarrassed, he remembered that he wasn't surrounded by the shadows of things that have been, nor the things to be, and opened the door.

First, Fukuyama went over to nephew's house and asked if he was still invited to his Christmas party. "Well, yes," Minato said in surprise. "Splendid," Fukuyama said, "only, I wonder if we might take your party to the city hall ballroom." "But uncle," Minato said in amazement, "that place is reserved almost every Christmas. I don't think…" "Nonsense," Fukuyama said, "I went over there earlier, and reserved it myself, just for us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have many more people to invite."

Fukuyama walked outside, where Konohamaru was still holding the prize turkey he had bought, and the 5,000 yen jingling in his pocket. Once he saw Fukuyama, he stood up and followed him off to the next destination.

Next, Fukuyama went to invite Kirie and her family to his party. He didn't meet her face to face, though. He just left a gift, with a note that said, 'It might be too late, but I will come for you if you want. P.S. you and your family are all invited to my nephew's party at city hall. Signed, Fukuyama Scrooge.'

Soon after that, he bumped into Shirai and Haitani. At first, they looked scared; but then, Fukuyama apologized for his attitude yesterday, and even said that he would be happy to donate to the church. He just needed them to come to his nephew's party tonight, so that he could discuss how much he would be able to give.

Then, after bidding the two of them ado, Fukuyama went to the toy store and bought several toys. Soon after, he and Konohamaru found themselves at the home of Yikinari and family. It was then that Fukuyama told Konohamaru to hide.

Taking the gifts and the turkey, Konohamaru hid behind a nearby barrel. Then, putting on his best scowl (which was now pretty hard to do), Fukuyama knocked on the door. It was a few seconds before Yukinari answered the door with a smile. But when he saw Fukuyama's face, it turned to one of terror.

"Mr. Fukuyama," Yukinari said, backing up in horror, "what are you doing here?" "What do you think I am doing here," Fukuyama said menacingly, walking into the house as he did, "I have come to pick up my employee, who just so happens to be late for work."

Yukinari looked at his family apologetically, then turned back to Fukuyama. "I'm sorry sir," he said, "I just forget, that's all." "You forgot," Fukuyama said, trying not to raise his voice too much, "YOU FORGOT!" Yukinari looked about ready to cry, as did the rest of his family (even his wife). "Well," Fukuyama said, "I'm afraid I have _no choice_, but to… heh, heh, heh.. hahaha…" Yukinari and his family looked at Fukuyama dumbfounded as he began to laugh. "To invite you, and your whole family, to my nephew's Christmas party, at city hall tonight." Yukinari and his family looked at Fukuyama like he had just lost it.

"Excuse me sir," Yukinari said, like he had just heard wrong. "But there's one thing first," Fukuyama said, opening the door, and beaconing Konohamaru forth, "I want you to cook this turkey for the party tonight." Yukinari took the turkey, still not believing any of this.

"Oh," Fukuyama said, grabbing the bag of gifts, "and here's something for the little ones. Remember, I want it at 7 pm sharp. The party begins at eight." After he stepped outside and closed the door, Fukuyama gave Konohamaru an extra 1,000 yen for following him around all day. Then, before going to get his nephew to prepare city hall's ballroom, Fukuyama turned to Konohamaru and said, "And I'll see you at the party too, I trust?" "Oh, most defiantly sir," Konohamaru said, and ran off.

_That night…_

The party was very fun for everybody. Granted, they all arrived late due to skepticism, but it was a fun time none the less. They all ate, drank, and the kids had a lot of fun as well. Meanwhile, Fukuyama talked with everyone. With Shirai and Haitani, with his nephew and Kushina (who, it turned out, was his fiancé) and some people he didn't even know.

Then he had a talk with Yukinari about work. "And I've decided to let you _have_ that raise after all," he said. "Really," Yukinari asked. "Of course," Fukuyama said sternly, "it will be a while before you get the cash, as I've also decided to pay for Timmy's operation, and take the money out of you paycheck." "Oh… oh, thank you, thank you," Yukinari said, before frowning, "wait, how did you know Timmy needed an operation?" "I'll answer that in a moment," Fukuyama said, taking a deep breath, "first, there's one thing I need to do."

And then, he went right over to talk with Kirie. "Kirie," Fukuyama said, "I… I was wrong, and I've come back for you. But, only if you still want me to; if you don't, I'll back off, and never bother you again, I promise." Kirie stood there for a few seconds before saying, "I'm sorry, but no. I still love you; and a part of me always will, but I've moved on. But still, I… I…" They both stood there for a while, not knowing what else to say.

"There is one last thing," Kirie finally said, taking a quick glance at her eldest son, "my eldest, he's…" "I know," Fukuyama said. Kirie stared at him, surprise in her face. "You know," she said, "but how could you know?"

Before Fukuyama could say anything, Minato said, "Hey, uncle, the kids have a question for you." Fukuyama walked over to where Timmy, Konohamaru, and a few others stood. "Mr. Scrooge," Timmy said, "mommy said says you're very mean; why are you acting so nice?" "That is an exhalant question," Fukuyama said, smiling, "and one I think everyone should hear."

Then he asked his nephew to get everyone to come over and listen to the story. When everyone had come over and got situated, Fukuyama smiled and said, "I must warn you, it gets a bit scary in places, so don't listen if you get too frightened. It all began last night, when I was coming home from work…"

Everyone listened to Fukuyama as he told the tale of what had been though, so no one looked up at the ceiling… no one saw the three people sitting in the rafters. "Looks like he'll be living in all three of us," the ghost of Christmas Past (currently in teenage girls form) said, "the past, present, and future." "I guess my younger siblings will be seeing Tiny Tim after all," the ghost of Christmas present said, a smile on his face. The ghost of Christmas future said nothing, but a smile could be seen on his face all the same (which was actually pretty rare). Then, three ghostly chains came down though the ceiling, and the three ghosts grabbed them. But as they were pulled up and away, they thought they heard, out of the corner of their ear, Timmy saying, "God bless us, everyone!"

_Merry Christmas to all, and to all… a 'Humbug' free year. Please review._

**Imagaco**


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